A Sheikh for Christmas (All I want for Christmas is... 1)

“Yes.” He crossed his legs and sighed. “My own parents arranged a marriage for me when I was only ten. My chosen bride was six at the time.”

“What?” She lowered her drink with a shaky hand, her expression incredulous. “You were just a child.”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” Melody shook her head. “That’s even worse than my parents pushing me into the engagement with Heath.” She frowned, staring down into her lap. “Where is he anyway? I know you said he wasn’t here. He probably hates me, right?”

Daveed shrugged. “Hate is a strong word. Disappointed, perhaps.”

“Hmm.” She gave a sad little chuckle. “Well, that seems to be my word of the day where romance is concerned. Heath ignored me basically the entire time we were together. Then that dickhead Jefferson waited until we got all the way to Tahiti to tell me he’s gay. God, what a mess.” She blinked hard and looked up at him again, her blue eyes hauntingly lovely. “How do y

ou do it?”

“Do what?” he asked, his throat oddly constricted now.

“How do you learn to open your heart again after being burned by love?”

And there was the million-dollar question. If he had the answer to that, he’d rule the universe. As it was, he had no clue. Daveed checked his watch and realized it was going on seven at night and he still hadn’t finished his lists. His life revolved around organization and lists and he wanted to make sure he had all his bases covered for the next day when he talked to the guys again about Murphy’s sister. Without a word, he pushed to his feet and stalked over to the table to resume his seat and his scribbling.

* * *

Melody watched him walk away beneath her damp lashes. She’d never really paid much attention to Daveed before. He’d been one of Heath’s friends and always hanging around the periphery of their group, but had sort of kept to himself. Now, though, he’d come to her aid in her hour of need—or more like day of desperation—and a girl couldn’t ignore such chivalry.

As the silence between them grew more awkward by the second, she got up and wandered over to the table, which was covered by papers and post-it notes. Daveed didn’t look up at her at all, so she finally pulled out a chair and sat, forcing a tremulous smile. “What are you doing”

“Huh?” Daveed glanced up at her with a frown, as if just then remembering she was still there. “Oh, making lists. It’s how I keep track of everything I’ve got going on and my responsibilities.”

“Oh.” She picked up one yellow square and squinted at his illegible scrawl before he snatched it away from her.

“Please, don’t touch anything. These are all very important.”

“Right.” She’d never been big on lists or organization herself. Her mother had always had a social secretary to take care of most things for her and when that failed, then Melody preferred to “wing it.” For her life was all about spontaneity, but then again, given how this whole situation with Jefferson Hanks had turned out, maybe planning and consideration was the way to go. While Daveed said nothing more, scowling down at his notes again, she studied him more. Honestly, she really didn’t know the guy very well. From what Heath had told her, Daveed Rafik had served alongside him and their other friend, Murphy Coen, in the Middle East. Melody had always thought of Daveed as a sort of Arabic James Bond type from the way Heath had bragged about the guy. He graduated Yale at the top of his class, spoke five languages fluently, and thwarted terrorists in a single bound, all without firing a single weapon.

Now, however, as he wrote furiously, his dark brows knit in concentration, she took her first real look at the guy. She noticed when he’d first answered the door that he was tall and well-muscled. As she sat beside him at the table, his dark brown hair curled above the collar of his white button-down shirt and reflected hints of gold beneath the lights. Yep. He was gorgeous, no doubt about it. If you went for the romance-novel cover sheikh type. Which she didn’t, at least not up to this point.

“I’ll be done in a moment,” he said, his tone distracted. “You’d be more comfortable on the sofa, I’d imagine. If you need more water, there’s bottles in the fridge.”

Somewhat surprised to find she didn’t want to leave, Melody blinked at the top of his downturned head. What she really wanted was to know more about this super-spy-turned-list-maker. “I have to admit that I was jealous of you.”

That got his attention, finally. He looked up at her, gaze narrowed, his expression confused. “What? Why would you be jealous of me? You barely know me.”

She shrugged. “You and Murphy both, actually. And I wasn’t jealous of you personally, more the idea of you, I guess. Both of you guys sure got more of Heath’s attention when we were together than I ever did.”

“Hmm.” Daveed tapped the end of his pen on the glass tabletop. “Well, since we’re admitting things, I have to ask. How in the world did you and Heath end up together?” He chuckled. “Not that you’re not a gorgeous woman, but you two have so little in common.”

Once her brain moved past the fact that he thought she was gorgeous and the answering shimmer of awareness zinged through her body, she swallowed hard. “Truth?”

“Always.”

“Being with Heath, engaged to him, was convenient.”

“How romantic,” Daveed said, followed by a derisive snort.

“Hey, sometimes hearts and flowers aren’t everything. Wearing that engagement ring kept my parents from bugging me about getting married. Honestly, I always figured Heath would call it off at some point. But then my mother got involved and insisted we set a date and suddenly the altar loomed ahead. And you’re right. Heath and I barely knew each other. How could we with him off running around the Middle East with you and Murphy for the last five years?”

Melody watched closely for a reaction, but got none. There was that damned military stoicism. They must teach them that in basic training or something. Heath had that ability too, probably Murphy as well. They could all turn their emotions on or off at the drop of a hat, and frankly it drove her batty. She was tempted to kick Daveed in the shin, just to get some kind of reaction from him, but refrained. From what Heath had told her, the guy had the reflexes of a trained assassin and wasn’t afraid to use them if necessary.

The only hint she got that she might have gotten under his smooth, tanned skin a bit was the slight growl in his voice as he said, “We were not ‘running around’, as you put it. We were saving lives and defending democracy. A bit more important than some mock society wedding, wouldn’t you say?”